


24/7/365

by flaming_muse



Series: 24/7/365-'verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-four hours (and fifteen minutes) in the life of Kurt, Blaine, and their baby daughter.</p><p>futurefic, no spoilers mentioned or implied past 4x02 (“Britney 2.0”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	24/7/365

**Author's Note:**

> I never in a million years ever thought I would write kid!fic, since I pretty much live it, but somehow I did.

4 am:

Kurt wakes with a jolt, a horrible, jarring noise blaring in his ear. His head is pillowed on his arms, and he realizes in horror as he struggles to regain control of his body that it’s the end of period bell and he must have fallen asleep in the McKinley library again. He hopes no one put anything in his hair.

As he gets a hand up to check, the sound continues, on and on and on, making his head ring and throb. Not the bell for the next class, no, the fire alarm in his apartment. Has Rachel been trying to cook again? How many times has he _told_ her not to try new dishes without him supervising?

“Nnnnggffff,” says a low, hoarse voice beside him.

Kurt manages to crack open a sleep-gritty eye, and he sees the time on the clock and the lights flaring on the baby monitor beside it. He drops his forehead back down onto his arms.

He’s not at McKinley or living with Rachel. He’s in his apartment with Blaine, and that noise is their daughter crying.

He takes a long, slow breath, centering himself and trying to find the energy from somewhere deep inside of himself to get up, and puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder as he starts to stir beside him. He knows Blaine’s even more tired than he is. “I’ve got it,” he says, pushing himself up to sitting and flipping off the monitor. Audrey’s cries don’t stop, but at least they’re now just coming from across the hall instead of blaring in his ear.

He’s pretty sure the rumble from Blaine is a thank you.

Audrey starts crying louder the moment Kurt opens her door, and he gives her a quick pat down her pajamas as he picks her up to make sure she isn’t wet or otherwise soiled. “I’m here, I’m here,” he says, rocking her side to side as she clutches at the sleeves of his pajama shirt and drips hot tears onto his shoulder. “It’s okay, honey, I’m here.” She calms after a few minutes, sniffling against his neck as he stares blankly at the wall and tries to remember what day it is (Thursday? He thinks it might be Thursday.), and he is relieved to find that he’s able to shift her into one arm and lay her down on the changing mat without her screaming in protest.

“Here we are. Let’s take care of you so you can get some more beauty sleep,” he says, tickling her stomach as he unfastens her sleeper and watching her giggle. “Not that you need it; you’re already beautiful.”

A quick diaper change later, he carries her into the kitchen, still speaking to her in soft, soothing tones, stubs his toe on the far bar stool because he doesn’t want to turn on lights and wake her up any more than he has to, and gets a bottle from the refrigerator into the warmer. He rocks and sings gentle songs, his eyes barely open as the magic of the movements and sound work on him, too, and waits for the timer to ding. Then he takes Audrey, the bottle, and a couple of burp cloths over to the couch.

Time passes, the soft sucking sound of Audrey’s mouth working, her happy snuffling sighs, and her little feet kicking up above her where she lies on his lap lulling him further back toward his dreams, and not even the rumble of a car passing and its headlights flickering through the window against the dark walls of the room can rouse him.

Finally the bottle is finished, Audrey burps and snuggles back into his arms, and Kurt readies himself for getting up and getting her settled in her crib so that he can get a few more hours of precious sleep.

He aches all the way down into his bones for the pressure of the duvet on his shoulder and Blaine’s warm body beside him. He aches to be lying flat in the silence and darkness, letting himself drift away. He aches for his eyes not to be scratchy from fatigue and his -

Audrey stirs, wiggles, and pushes herself up off Kurt’s chest so that she can see him. Her eyes light up, and she pats her hand a few times on his chest. “Da!” she says happily. She pats him again, a sweet little touch through the fabric of his pajama shirt. “Da da!”

Kurt allows himself to close his eyes for a single, heartbroken moment as all of his most dearly held dreams are dashed.

Then he opens them again, smiles warmly if tiredly at his daughter, and says, “Good morning, honey. I can see you’re up for the day.”

5 am:

Blaine rolls toward the center of their bed, looking for a position where his back doesn’t ache and where he can get a little closer to Kurt, because he always sleeps better when he’s close to Kurt, only Kurt’s not there.

Blaine lifts his head and opens his eyes. Kurt’s not there. The monitor is off, it’s still dark outside, and Kurt isn’t there.

He hears Audrey’s squeal down the hallway.

With a groan, Blaine flops over onto his back and stares at the ceiling like it has any help to offer. Kurt has a big deadline at work next week, and he’s been working himself too hard to get it done and still be around for their family. He needs his sleep. Blaine appreciates down to his bones Kurt getting up with Audrey this morning, but he knows Kurt did it because he expected to be able to get back to bed.

Blaine steels himself, stretches from head to toe, and crawls out from under the covers.

In the living room, Kurt is sitting on the couch checking e-mail on his phone with one hand and playing some sort of tug-of-war game with Audrey with the other. She’s laughing with delight, grabbing for the floppy bunny he’s letting her catch, and he’s smiling, too, even as he scrolls through messages.

He looks up when Blaine comes through the doorway, and he looks so _tired_ , deep circles under his eyes and his body slumped against the cushions.

Blaine comes over, brushes his hand over Audrey’s soft curls and kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “Let me get some coffee, and then you go back to bed,” he says.

Kurt dangles the bunny up above Audrey again, and she squeals and lunges for it. “I’m not going to argue.”

“Good.” Blaine shoots him a smile over his shoulder and heads over to the coffee machine. The lid is open, but there’s no water inside warming up. It looks like Audrey must have interrupted Kurt before he could pick a K-cup, or Kurt got lost somewhere in the process and gave up. That’s not a good sign at all.

Blaine turns around and scoops up Audrey and Mr. Fluffy Bunnikins (it’s the bunny’s name, whether Kurt agrees or not). “Come on, honey, you can help me. Daddy’s going to bed right now.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, handing Audrey the bunny as soon as she drops it. “I love you.” He looks like he can barely stand, but his smile is real enough, at least. The gratitude in it makes Blaine want to kiss him, but Kurt’s already shuffling toward the bedroom.

“I love you, too,” Blaine says to Kurt’s back and then gives his daughter a big, wet, raspberry of a kiss on her cheek instead.

6 am:

Kurt turns over for the third time in fifteen minutes. He can’t sleep. Why can’t he _sleep_? He has so much to do, and he has time to sleep, and why can’t he just -

He dozes off again before he can finish that thought.

7 am:

“Okay, okay,” Blaine says, laughing, “but if you get the red one then I get the orange one. It’s only fair!”

Audrey waves her cute little fist at him and just barely misses thwacking him on the nose with the orange wooden stacking cup. “Da!” she demands.

“I see we are going to have to work on sharing, young lady,” he tells her, handing her the red cup he’s holding. She immediately begins to bang the cups together.

Blaine hears a chuckle from the doorway, and he looks over to see Kurt, his hair sticking up in all directions but his eyes bright, leaning there. “Hey. Feel better?” he asks.

Kurt nods. “Yes. Thank you. Do you need anything before I take a shower?”

“Da!” Audrey exclaims, and Blaine dodges the red cup.

“A helmet?” Blaine says.

Kurt just smiles at him, loose and at ease in a way Blaine’s not sure he’ll ever get used to, but then he doesn’t want to, because he always wants Kurt to feel special to him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kurt says and turns toward the bathroom.

8 am:

Kurt can’t find his keys anywhere. They’re not in his bag, not by his portfolio, not in his coat, not in his other coat, not by the bed, not with his wallet, not by his phone, not on the kitchen table, not in the couch cushions. They aren’t anywhere.

He needs his keys. Obviously he does. He needs to be able to do simple, basic things like lock and unlock doors, not just at home but at the office. He’s supposed to be at work first today, but even if he weren’t he needs his keys for the locked drawer of his desk where he tucks his bag and the hidden closet in the hallway where he keeps his coat. He can’t just... not have keys.

Except that he does. He has no keys.

“I have no keys,” Kurt says, turning in a slow circle by the front door and just _willing_ them to appear.

“That’s right,” Blaine coos. “Now move your finger here, and that’s the A.”

A soft, synthesized A sounds in the room.

“Blaine,” Kurt says to his husband, who is sitting on the couch with their daughter and his electronic keyboard. “I have no keys.”

Blaine doesn’t look up. “Are they by your wallet?”

Kurt’s eyebrows lift in disbelief at the suggestion. “Are they by my -?”

“Or your phone?” Blaine adds, entirely unhelpfully.

Another note sounds, and then Audrey begins banging on the keyboard in a teeth-clenching cacophony of noise.

“Da!” she squeals. “Eeeeee!”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” Blaine tells her. “I’m so proud of you!”

"Blaine!" Kurt says more loudly, because he has no _keys_.

"Maybe in your coat?" Blaine says over the banging.

Kurt closes his eyes, counts to twenty, resists the urge to strangle his family, and begins to search again.

No thanks to Blaine whatsoever, he finds his keys ten minutes later when he gives up and goes to get his lunch and leave for work without them.

They are in the empty butter dish on the door of the refrigerator.

9 am:

It is only when Kurt is walking into his first meeting of the day that he realizes with horror that there is some sort of icky stain on his lovely Westwood jacket and that his tie does not go with his outfit at _all_.

10 am:

One diaper change, one shirt change (Blaine), one entire outfit change (Audrey), one snack, two crying fits, one snuggle on the couch, three songs, one phone call, two lost cuddle toys, one missing shoe, two hats (one refused by Audrey, one worn by Blaine to cover up his unbrushed hair, whoops), and one stroller that refused to unfold later, Blaine finally gets out the door to take Audrey on a walk to the park.

11 am:

Kurt checks his phone as he walks swiftly out of his meeting toward his desk. He has twenty-three new work e-mails, a missed call from Finn that is probably a pocket dial, and five texts from Blaine.

One of them is picture of Audrey, in a pair of denim overalls and her favorite yellow hoodie, holding onto a low stone wall at the park and beaming at a family of ducks.

Kurt is having an excellent day, is thrilled to able to use his mind and his creativity to do what he does, and is absolutely going to _eviscerate_ Natalie at the pitch meeting after lunch... but a part of him feels hollow and lonely that he’s in the office instead of at the park with them.

12 pm:

“Come on, Aud, it’s peaches. You love peaches!” Blaine offers her a spoon again, and she knocks it away, sobbing harder.

He’s covered in peaches. They’re in his hair, on his shirt, and all over his face. They’re all over Audrey’s high chair, too. And the kitchen table. And the kitchen cabinets.

The one place peaches are not is in her stomach.

“Sweetie, you’re hungry. Do you want apples instead? We can have apples. Daddy will never know we went off his schedule.” Blaine goes into the cabinet and gets a jar of the special apple puree Kurt made. “And if he does, I’ll totally take the fall for it, okay? Have some apples.”

But she just screams some more, kicking her feet against the wooden base of the high chair and wailing like he’s torturing her instead of offering her the food she so clearly needs.

“Just a little food and then a nap. A nice, soothing, wonderful nap,” he promises a little desperately. “Because if you don’t eat, you’re not going to sleep, and then you’re never going to feel better. I know I kept you up a little longer than usual today because you were having so much fun with the ducks, but it’s okay. We can get through this. I promise.”

She swallows a little of the apples when he pops the spoon in her mouth mid-scream, and she looks surprised and pleased for a second.

And then she starts crying again.

1 pm:

Audrey is just the most beautiful creature in the world. Blaine doesn’t know how it’s possible, how she is _theirs_ , but as he sets her in her crib, having finally fallen asleep in his arms in the rocking chair, he just feels like he could swoon at how perfect she is and how lucky he is. He’s exhausted and in serious need of a shower and a vacation, but he’s so _lucky_.

He watches her for a minute, drinking in the sweet curve of her cheek and the way she clings to her bunny even asleep, before he tiptoes out and shuts the door as quietly as he can behind him. He waits for a second to be sure she’s not going to wake up from the latch’s quiet click, and then he walks over to the couch and sinks down onto it. It’s blissfully quiet, and it feels _so_ good to be sitting.

He should really clean up the kitchen. And the toys. And the mail. And himself.

Instead, he reaches for his phone, because he has at least an hour to himself, and he’s not going to waste it.

“Blainey!” Coopers voice is so clear and _adult_ that Blaine can feel a tear prickling at the corner of his eye. “How’s it going? How’s my favorite little niece?”

“She’s great. Finally napping. It was a rough one today.”

“I told you, a little whiskey in her bottle always does the trick,” Cooper says. “I learned that when I stole the scene playing a dead body on _Law & Order: SVU_.”

Blaine presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and finds himself grinning. God, it is so good to talk to an actual adult, and it is kind of shocking that his world has changed so much that Cooper counts as one. “I’m pretty sure the person who did that was the bad guy in that episode, Coop.”

“Yeah, but it totally got the baby to sleep,” Cooper tells him. His voice softens a little. “You sound tired. You okay?”

“It’s just been a long day. A long week. Kurt’s got this big deadline coming up, so he has to go into the office every day instead of working from home one of them, which means I don’t really get a break right now. But Aud is great. She’s amazing, actually.” Blaine feels his heart swell, because he loves her _so much_ , and she’s getting this sense of humor that just shines out of her and is starting to try to sing with him, too. If only she would _nap_. And eat. And occasionally play by herself while he does something else. “It’s just nice to talk to people who can carry on actual conversations and who don’t throw fruit at me.”

“So I should cancel sending Gallagher to your house, then?” Cooper says.

Blaine laughs and feels another bit of weight lift from his chest. He can almost forget about everything else right now with Cooper’s voice on the phone, and it’s wonderful. “Well, he can’t make the kitchen any messier than it is after Audrey’s lunch. But I want to hear about you. Tell me how your auditions are going. You texted about some secret project with Brad Pitt?”

“You know I shouldn’t talk about that,” Cooper says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s totally on the D-L. But since you’re my brother - “

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by a high-pitched shriek from the other room.

Blaine’s heart falls, and for a moment he thinks he might be sick. At most, it’s been five minutes. _Five minutes._

She shrieks again.

He takes a deep breath and sits up.

“Wow, she’s really got a good set of lungs, huh?” Cooper says.

“Kurt’s current life plan for her is fashionista-slash-activist-judge-slash-opera-singer,” Blaine agrees. He pushes himself off of the couch. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I think she’s getting another tooth, but I’m not sure yet.”

“It’s okay. Call me any time, okay, Blainey?”

“Thanks,” Blaine tells him, truly grateful, because Cooper might be Cooper, but he still cares, and hangs up the phone.

2 pm:

Kurt studies the spreadsheet on the computer screen in front of him, matching the yardage ordered with the swatches of fabric and going over the estimates on fastenings and notions yet again. If he can just make the numbers work, he can get the full-length version of that organza skirt put into production, and it’s the best piece of the whole runway collection, if he does say so himself. He just needs to find a way for it not to price out of the stores.

Maybe if he loses a third of the sequins on the wrap dress, which he always thought was too gaudy, anyway, he can wiggle that price point down enough that the skirt fits into the spread better, but that means he’ll have to increase the yardage of the overlay and -

His phone rings.

He would ignore it and focus instead on the numbers and fabrics settling into place in his head, only it’s Blaine’s ring (set and re-set by Blaine in his whimsical moods over the years, always without telling Kurt, although he hasn’t stolen Kurt’s phone in a while, so it’s still “Baby Love”), and Blaine doesn’t call him at work unless it’s very important.

“Hi,” Kurt says into the phone, his eyes still tracking over the spreadsheet. He picks up a pencil to re-sketch the detail of the wrap dress before he forgets about it.

“Hey, sorry,” Blaine says. Kurt can hear Audrey babbling in the background. “The attorney just called. He says he’s missing a notarized copy of our marriage certificate.”

“We gave him copies of everything. I checked and double checked,” Kurt says, doodling the scrollwork.

“I know,” Blaine tells him. “I did, too. But he says he’s missing it, and he needs me to Fed-Ex it over so he can finally file to finalize the adoption.”

“But I gave it to him,” Kurt says with some indignation. He sits up in his chair. He distinctly remembers going over the checklist repeatedly, making absolutely certain they had everything that they needed. He doesn’t want there to be any reason for their petition to be denied or delayed; it’s ridiculous that they have to do it, but it is important for Blaine to be Audrey’s legal parent, too.

“I know, Kurt. But he doesn’t have it. Didn’t you get extras just in case?”

Kurt puts down his pencil. “Yes, I did. Of course I did. But I shouldn’t have had to, because this is a stupid step we have to go through. We’re married, and Audrey is as much yours as mine, no matter who the biological parent is, and if you are going to be forced to go through this extra step of adopting her, anyway, then I don’t see why we should have to - “

“Kurt,” Blaine says more sharply, and Kurt snaps his mouth shut. It’s an old diatribe, and one Blaine certainly doesn’t need to hear right now.

“Sorry. They’re, um...” Kurt closes his eyes and tries to focus. They’d turned Kurt’s office into the nursery, and its contents have ended up in various unusual places around the apartment instead of all neatly organize the way they used to be. He takes a breath and visualizes the paperwork. “I put the extra one in the fireproof box under your side of the bed.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says. Audrey gives a high-pitched squeal close to the phone, making Kurt wince, and Blaine sighs and gets a sing-song lilt to his voice. “Okay. We’re going on a little trip, sweetie, because other people aren’t as efficient as Daddy is.” He might be hiding it for her, but he sounds tired and annoyed to Kurt’s expert ears.

“Everything okay? Besides the extra work?” Kurt asks him.

“Yeah.” Blaine sighs again. “We’re fine, but Aud doesn’t want to nap. Or eat. Or play Mr. Fluffy Bunnikins Has A Tea Party.”

“That’s because she’s smart enough to think that’s a ridiculous name,” Kurt says and wishes he could be there to kiss the tiredness out of Blaine’s voice.

Blaine laughs a little, at least, and says, “Anyway. You work. We’re going to FedEx, and then I’m going to see if I can get her to chew on something cold and make her tooth feel better, if that’s what it is.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“You, too,” Blaine says and hangs up.

Kurt looks over at the picture of Blaine and Audrey he has on his desk, smiles a little at this wonderful family they have created and are finally going to get to make legally official in all ways if only people would do their jobs like they’re supposed to, and then turns his attention back to his work.

He finds he has a few scrawled numbers and a vague swirl of a sketch on his notepad, and he wonders what on earth he had been thinking before the phone call.

3 pm:

“I just can't get you out of my head. Boy, your lovin' is all I think about,” Blaine sings along with the music, bouncing Audrey on his hip as they dance around the living room.

She squeals with joy, grips his shirt with one chubby hand, and thwacks him with her toy bunny in time with the beat.

4 pm:

His hair as much of a disaster as the room around them, Blaine is fast asleep on the couch, snoring, his hands secure on Audrey as she dozes happily on his chest.

5 pm:

As he packs up, Kurt’s chest swells with satisfaction that he’s making excellent decisions that are going to make the line the best it can be. He is _good_ at this. He’s not finished with this rearrangement, but he’s getting closer.

Kurt takes one last look around his desk. He has his folio, his laptop, his notes, his accordion folder, his swatches, his bag, his wallet, his phone, and his keys. That should be everything. He hopes it’s everything. He still has so much to do, and he can’t be delayed by forgetting something.

It’s going to be a long slog home on the subway with overloaded bags, and it would be far easier to get his work done if he just stayed at his desk, where he has plenty of space, even more quiet, and everything he needs at his fingertips, but he doesn’t have a family so that he can ignore them.

So he’s going home.

6 pm:

Kurt opens the door to the apartment, so relieved to be there he can feel it in his bones, and is greeted by the sound of Simon and Garfunkel from the iPod speakers, the smell of laundry detergent (he thanks his wisdom and forethought every day for picking an apartment with in-unit appliances) and something fruity, and the sight of his husband reclining on his side on the floor rolling a bright blue felt ball to their daughter. Blaine’s in faded jeans and an old Dalton t-shirt, and Audrey is wearing lime green striped leggings and a teal shirt that clash horribly.

“Da!” Audrey cries when she sees Kurt come in. “Da da da!” Her whole face lights up, and Kurt can’t help the sappy smile that overcomes him when she turns herself around and crawls directly over to him, quick as a flash. There’s nothing like that kind of reception, nothing.

“Hi, honey, how was your day?” he asks, dropping his bags and scooping her up. She twists her fingers in the fabric of his scarf and leans forward to drop a sloppy, sticky kiss on his mouth, and he squeezes the warm, solid, wiggling weight of her to his chest. He breathes in, happy to be where he is supposed to be.

“Welcome home,” Blaine says as he walks over, and Kurt frees an arm and pulls him in for a quick peck before he gets a good look at him.

“What is that in your _hair_?” Kurt asks. “No, never mind, don’t tell me. Miss Audrey and I will take over dinner, and you are going to go take a shower.”

Blaine lifts a hand to his hair, finds one of the weird gummy spots, and makes a face. “I’ll make it quick,” he promises.

“Make it _thorough_ ,” Kurt says kindly if sternly and pulls Audrey away as she reaches for Blaine’s hair, too. “What have you started to eat?”

“I, uh - There’s water on, but it’s been a busy day, and I hadn’t gotten to - “

Kurt points toward the bathroom. “Between you and the stuff on the floor in here, I can see exactly what sort of day it’s been,” he says. “Go take a shower.”

Blaine leans in and kisses him again, just a little press of his familiar, warm, oh-so-slightly chapped lips, and then Kurt rescues his scarf from Audrey’s curious but destructive fingers, takes off his jacket, too, and goes into the kitchen.

The kitchen, unlike the currently toy-strewn living room, is spotless.

“I don’t even want to know what happened in here today that this room needed to be so well cleaned,” he tells Audrey as he settles her into her high chair. Her reply is a happy shriek.

Kurt pulls out a wooden spoon and a couple of plastic bowls and is grateful for his many years of being with Blaine that he can mostly tune out the sound of happy music being made in the background while he works. He’s not really in the mood to cook after a long day, but at least it’s not an awful and foul-smelling chore like dealing with the diaper pail, and it’s even better since this means Blaine will do the cleaning up after the meal.

“Da da da ba ba _da_!” Audrey yells as she bangs on the bowls. Her rhythm is iffy, but her enthusiasm is unquestionable, and it makes Kurt smile as he sorts out a quick pasta sauce and chops some vegetables for a salad.

By the time Blaine comes back, though, Kurt’s shoulders are starting to get tense from the onslaught of noise; after a day in the adult-centered bustle of his office it’s quite a shock to his system that home is such a busy place, too. He’s always liked a bit of serenity in his own space. He’s grateful that Blaine, still damp in his t-shirt and sweatpants but so nicely clean, takes away her percussion section as part of setting the table, even if she wails for a moment until Blaine picks her up.

Audrey grabs onto Blaine’s wet, curly hair, and Kurt rinses the cutting board and comments, “You know, that used to be my job. Playing with your hair.”

“You’re too slow,” Blaine says to him, grinning right into Audrey’s face. He looks so _happy_ , his eyes shining, and it makes some of Kurt’s exhaustion lift... or at least be a little more worthwhile.

“I used to be the love of your life, too,” Kurt says as he watches them. “But now I’m not so sure.”

Blaine glances over at him, his smile shifting to something warmer, more mature. “I have enough for the two of you to share.”

“You’d better,” Kurt says, and he leans in to kiss Audrey’s cheek when he passes by to get the oil and vinegar cruets. He’s not worried, because his heart is big enough to share, too, and she’s worth it.

It takes way longer than it should to get settled at the kitchen table, because as always they forget things - napkins, a spoon for Audrey’s yogurt, the freshly grated parmigiano reggiano - but then they’re there, the three of them, sitting down for dinner. Kurt takes a moment to look at them both, Blaine across from him, Audrey in her chair between them, these amazing people whom he loves so much, and then Audrey lunges for the bowl of pasta, they both lunge for her to stop her, and the meal begins.

“How was your meeting today? The prep one?” Blaine asks as he serves himself some salad.

“Good. Nic had a really strong idea about the winter line for next year, but Natalie _insists_ that - “

Blaine takes the salad tongs out of Audrey’s hand. “No, sweetie, your food is here,” he says, gesturing to the carefully sliced strawberries on her tray. She goes for the tongs again, and he moves them further out of reach. He looks back at Kurt. “Sorry. Natalie?”

Kurt nods and says around a bite of pasta, “She _insists_ that - Audrey Elizabeth Anderson-Hummel! That is no way to treat a ridiculously expensive out of season organic strawberry!”

Another piece of berry goes flying.

“Ba _bah_!” she yells. “Ba ba da da ba ba!”

“She hasn’t wanted to eat all day,” Blaine tells him, rescuing the other bits of berry before they can become projectiles. “I think she’s teething.”

Kurt pushes back from the table and goes over to the freezer. “Do we have - ah.” He pulls out a miniature bagel he’d stored in there just for this very reason. “Here.”

“I thought we were out!” Blaine says with more than a little accusation in his voice. “I didn’t even look, because last night you told me we were out.”

“There was apparently one left,” Kurt says slowly. “It’s not a conspiracy, Blaine.” He hands the bagel to Audrey. “Here you go, honey. Try this.”

She takes the bagel in her fist and stares at it. Then she lets out a screech of joy and begins to gnaw on it.

“I thought we were out,” Blaine says again. He pokes at his food. “I could really have used that today.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. He looks at the slump of Blaine’s shoulders and the sparkling cleanliness of the kitchen. “So I guess I shouldn’t ask if you had any time for yourself today?”

Blaine snorts. “I couldn’t even talk to Cooper for more than three minutes,” he says with a sigh.

“Eeeeeaaah!” Audrey squeals and gums the bagel some more. She bangs her free hand against the tray of her high chair.

“I’m sorry.” Kurt reaches his hand out to him across the table, and Blaine reaches back, lacing their fingers together for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Blaine tells him softly. “I mean, I’m tired, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Audrey bangs a few more times, then throws the bagel and bursts into tears.

“Honey, honey,” Kurt says, reaching for her, but she launches herself away from him, toward Blaine, and Kurt can only watch as Blaine unbuckles her from her chair and settles her on his lap, her arms around his neck and her face pressed against his chest as she cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Blaine says to her, rubbing her back. “You won’t always feel this way.” He keeps his head bent over her, talking soothing nonsense, until she settles some, and then he looks back up at Kurt. “I really think it’s a new tooth.”

“I hope so,” Kurt says, because if teething is hard for them all, at least it’s temporary and natural. It’s so awful to see her so upset; it twists in his gut and makes him feel helpless in a way he hasn’t in years.

Audrey turns at the sound of his voice, one teary eye peeking out at him.

He smiles at her, and she tucks her face back against Blaine.

“I can’t really blame her,” Kurt says, turning his smile to Blaine. “I’ve always found you very comforting to hold onto when I’m upset.”

Blaine strokes Audrey’s fair hair with one hand and reaches for a piece of bread with the other. “I don’t want either of you to be upset.”

“I know.” Kurt thinks for a moment, trying to come up with something to tempt Audrey to eat. She’ll have her evening bottle before bed, but he doesn’t want her to be too hungry. He can give her usual carefully varied eating schedule some wiggle room for comfort. “Maybe some peaches?”

“No!” Blaine says with a surprising amount of vehemence, given that they’re Audrey’s favorite fruit. “No peaches.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll give her some bread in a minute, maybe, or try the strawberries again. _No_ peaches.”

“All right. So... did you at least have a good time at the park today?”

Blaine nods and takes a bite of his pasta. “Yes. There was this busker by the duck pond who was doing this amazing medley of Kylie Minogue songs that got me thinking about how I wanted to - “

“Duh!” Audrey says to Blaine and then turns to Kurt. “Duh! Duh duh duh!” She bangs her hand on the table, sending Blaine’s fork flying.

Kurt gets up to get Blaine another fork. “What were they doing that was so - “

“ _Duh!_ ” Audrey says more fervently.

“What were they doing - “ Kurt tries again, eager to hear about Blaine’s thoughts about the music, since Blaine isn’t getting much chance to use his skills these days, and Kurt misses hearing him trying things out in the house.

“Duh!”

“Wait, duck?” Blaine bends his head and asks her.

“Duh!” Audrey agrees and bangs the table again.

“She just said duck?” Kurt says, frozen halfway through closing the silverware drawer.

Blaine laughs, sounding just as surprised as he is, and looks up at him in awe. “I think so.”

Kurt comes over to crouch down in front of them, heedless of the damage it might do to his pants, and says, “Duck, Audrey? Did you see ducks at the park today?”

“Duh!” she says and smacks him on the nose.

“You are so smart!” Blaine coos at her, and Kurt kisses her on her forehead.

“Tell me later about the music?” he says to Blaine.

Blaine nods. “And the meeting?”

“Of course.” Kurt gives Blaine his fork and goes back to his seat. Then he leans toward Audrey and says, “Tell me all about the ducks, honey!”

7 pm:

Blaine leans in the bathroom doorway and watches Kurt, who is sitting on the floor next to the bathtub with his pants getting damp and the sleeves of his gorgeous and probably ridiculously expensive dress shirt rolled up beyond the elbow, maneuvering Audrey’s rubber ducks through the bubbles as she squeals and grabs for them.

“Duh!” she says, creating a small tidal wave in the tub.

“That’s right,” Kurt says with the gentle patience he’s grown into since her birth. He’s always had it, Blaine knows, but he seems to embrace it more now with the people he loves most. “Ducks.”

Smiling to himself and wondering again how he got so lucky, Blaine pushes away from the door and goes to move around the laundry before he falls over where he stands.

Then maybe he can sit down for a minute. Just a minute, so he isn’t yawning in Kurt’s face after Audrey’s in bed.

8 pm:

Kurt rocks with Audrey in the chair for a few minutes longer than necessary, but he can’t help it. She’s getting so big, and though he loves seeing her doing - and saying! - new things each day, he’s going to miss this sleepy, snuggly bundle of baby curled up against his chest. She isn’t going to be this way for long.

So he sits for a few minutes longer than he needs to before he settles her into her crib, but it really is only a three or four, and he’s surprised when he walks out into the living room, the breath coming out of him in a long exhalation as he finally gets to relax into the quiet, recharging part of his day, that Blaine isn’t puttering in the kitchen making him his usual evening cup of tea or some of that caramel popcorn he likes so much.

Instead, Blaine is sitting upright on his side of the couch, his feet on the floor and his head tipped back against the pillows. His eyes are closed, his mouth is open, and he’s quite clearly out like a light.

Kurt stands there for a moment, because all he wants to do is curl up in the curve of his arm and watch an hour of people singing badly in the hopes of becoming mega-stars, but he knows all too well what it means to be tired.

“Blaine,” he murmurs, perching on the edge of the cushion beside him and rubbing his shoulder. “Blaine.”

Blaine doesn’t stir.

“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt says, rubbing a little harder. “Time to get you to bed.”

“Wha?” Blaine replies. He lifts his head like he isn’t quite sure how his muscles work.

“Bed.” Kurt stands up and offers him his hand.

Blaine puts his hand in Kurt’s and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. It’s a near thing, but he manages to stay upright once he’s there. “TV?”

“It’s on the DVR,” Kurt tells him, getting an arm around his back and ushering him toward the bedroom. “We’re already a week behind. It’ll keep.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, and he looks like he’s asleep again before he even hits the pillow.

9 pm:

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kurt yawns widely enough that it hurts his jaw, and he looks longingly over at the hallway and the nice, soft, Blaine-filled bed waiting for him... and then he takes a sip of his lukewarm tea and focuses back on his laptop to finish up the work he didn’t get done earlier while he was _at_ work.

The faster he’s finished, the sooner he can be in that bed, too.

10 pm:

Blaine wanders hazily out of the bedroom, pretty sure that the ten on the clock means it’s night but enough out of it that he has to look out of the window to be sure, because either way he isn’t supposed to be sleeping at ten, and finds Kurt at the kitchen sink scrubbing the pot he’d made sauce in earlier.

“I left that to soak,” Blaine says. “I was going to wash it in the morning.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt tells him, smiling at him faintly over his shoulder. “It’ll just take me a minute.”

He really does sound fine about it, but Blaine still feels bad that Kurt’s up working when he was in sleeping, and he’s still not sure how that happened. He comes up behind him and slips his arms around Kurt’s waist. “Come to bed,” he says. “I’ll finish up in the morning, I promise.”

“I’m almost done.”

“I thought me taking the year off to look after Aud was supposed to stop us from having to do chores at all hours,” Blaine says. He just wants to go back to bed. He wants to go to bed with Kurt. He doesn’t want Kurt to be staying up doing what’s supposed to be _his_ work, because he’s not doing it the way Kurt wants, when Kurt could be in bed with him, instead.

Kurt laughs and keeps scrubbing. “I don’t even want to think what things would be like if you _were_ working.”

“We had no idea, did we?”

“No,” Kurt says, a smile still in his voice.

Blaine leans into him, pressing his cheek against Kurt’s strong shoulder blade, tightening his arms around Kurt’s stomach. He’s still so slim, but there’s a solidity to him, a strength, that always makes Blaine relax when he feels it, because he knows he isn’t living his life alone anymore. He hasn’t had to for a long time. Kurt’s there with him, even if that means that Kurt might be scrubbing a pot when they both should be sleeping.

And Kurt feels really good in his arms, too, of course. He always does. Always, always, always.

Blaine nuzzles against the back of Kurt’s neck and presses a happy kiss to the skin there. “Love you,” he says, closing his eyes. He tells himself he won’t leave anything to soak the next time.

“I love you, too,” Kurt tells him, rinsing the pot and turning off the water. “Go back to bed, Blaine. I’ll be in in a little while. I’m almost done.”

“Okay,” Blaine says and goes back to bed to wait for him.

11 pm:

Kurt feels like he is dead on his feet as he walks into the bedroom, his work done, the kitchen and living room clean so he won’t have to face the mess in the morning, and his skin cleansed and moisturized. All he wants in the whole world is an unlimited dry cleaning budget and about twelve hours of sleep, but at this point he will happily take six. Six beautiful, uninterrupted hours of relaxing, peaceful sleep.

He flicks on the monitor and slides into bed. Blaine has migrated toward the middle of the mattress, as he often does when Kurt isn’t there (Kurt says it’s because he just likes to sprawl, but Blaine insists he’s looking for him), and Kurt curls on his side toward him and lets himself start to soak in his warmth. He might not have been able to cuddle on the couch, but at least Blaine is here beside him in bed, sweet, handsome, kind Blaine...

He just starts to feel his muscles begin to relax when Audrey lets out an ear-splitting cry.

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut in despair and flings a hand out blindly for the monitor. Of course he knocks it off of the table instead, and Blaine turns over when Kurt reaches down to grab the device off of the floor.

“Shh,” Kurt tells him, his voice cracking with misery. He just wants to _sleep_. “I’ve got it.”

“No,” Blaine says. “You just got here. This one’s mine.”

“But - “

Blaine tugs him back down by his shoulder and pulls the duvet up over him. He leans down and kisses Kurt imprecisely on the mouth. “Sleep well.”

Already melting into the mattress, Kurt watches him go, hears the murmur of his voice as Audrey’s wails begin to quiet in her next room, and wishes with all of his heart that he had any sort of way to thank Blaine for the gifts he gives him every single day.

12 am:

Kurt rouses a little when Blaine comes back to bed, and he rolls toward him and his cozy heat, tucking his head against Blaine’s shoulder and getting an arm across his chest.

His fingers find a wet spot on Blaine’s shirt that he really hopes is tears and not spit-up, but he’s too tired to care.

1 am:

A car honks a half dozen times out on the street, and the driver yells something out into the night. Another car honks back.

Audrey sleeps.

Kurt and Blaine sleep.

2 am:

Blaine dreams of Kurt, naked, wet, beckoning him into the shower in their bathroom that suddenly is roomy and luxurious like the one in the hotel they’d stayed at years ago in Monterey. Kurt’s mouth is opening to his the moment their lips meet, and his hands are encouraging and eager, unmistakably forward. He pushes Blaine against the warm tile wall and gives him a sultry, knowing smile.

In the shower, Blaine smiles right back.

In bed, Blaine’s arm tightens around Kurt’s waist, he hardens a little against the swell of Kurt’s ass, and then he drifts out of that dream and into deeper, more restful, far more necessary slumber.

3 am:

Kurt wakes up, his heart pounding. There was a noise. Was there a noise? Was there not a noise?

He can feel Blaine curled up behind him, snoring gently, so he knows Blaine is fine.

There’s no creaking of the floorboards, so he knows no one has broken in.

He watches the monitor instead. It’s quiet, no lights blinking, no sounds coming from it. It is too quiet? Is Audrey okay? Is she breathing? What if she isn’t breathing? What if something happened?

He should get up and check, just to be sure. Maybe he should bring the phone in case he has to dial 911. Just in case. It’s better to be sure. This is his baby, his darling little girl. He needs to do the right thing. He needs to take care of her. There’s no such thing as too prepared when it comes to -

Audrey coughs, and he hears her smack her lips and murmur a little through the monitor.

The panic slowly drains out of him, his muscles unlocking and his heart returning to a more normal rate. She’s fine. She just coughed.

Audrey is fine.

He watches the lights blink on the monitor each time she makes a sound for a while, though, just to be sure.

4 am:

“Da da _dah_ ba ba da da ma da!” There is the distinct sound of hands smacking against the rail of her crib as Audrey yells.

Blaine groans into his pillow as Kurt turns off the monitor. “Is she _singing_?” he manages to put words together to ask.

“She’s your daughter,” Kurt says, looking over at him. His voice is raspy, and he stifles a yawn behind his hand.

“You sing, too,” Blaine reminds him petulantly. He can still hear her through the door. She sounds _really_ happy... and also really awake.

“Singing at an inappropriate time?” Kurt sits up. “All you.”

Blaine catches at Kurt’s arm and tries to push himself upright. “No, you stay,” he says, as little as he wants to get out of bed. “You’ve got that thing this morning.”

“And you’ve got her all day.” Kurt throws back the covers. “I’m not really sleeping, anyway.”

“Okay, but - “ Blaine scratches at his shoulder and encounters some sort of crusted substance on it. “What is on my shirt?”

“These days, I think it’s probably best not to ask.”

“Mmm,” Blaine says and pulls the shirt off over his head. He’s used to having all sorts of unpleasant things spit up on or thrown at him at this point, but he doesn’t have to like it. He looks up to find Kurt staring at him, his eyes hard to read in the dim light of the room. “What?”

“Just enjoying the view,” Kurt says wistfully. He takes a step back away from the bed even as Blaine starts to smile at the thought, and Kurt yawns again.

“Come get me in an hour if she won’t go back down,” Blaine tells him, dropping the enticing suggestion he was about to make in the face of what Kurt _really_ needs right now.

“I will,” Kurt promises and slips out the door.

A minute later, Audrey shrieks with joy, and Blaine hears Kurt laugh in reply.

Blaine’s smiling as he snuggles down under the covers, and he finds himself wondering if he has an extra cup of coffee he could manage to get up now and enjoy the morning with his family.

4:10 am:

Kurt sits on the couch with Audrey on his lap, her head resting in the crook of his arm. The smack-suck of her lips on the bottle is a satisfying accompaniment to her happily wiggling legs, and he brushes back the curls on her forehead and smiles down into her deep, wise eyes.

She pats her hand gently against his fingers where he helps her hold the bottle and looks right back up at him, so trusting and happy.

He aches, partly with fatigue - and he wishes that weekends were breaks the way they used to be, because, _god_ , he can't even be all that happy about Saturday coming tomorrow when he’s still going to be up at four - but mostly with love, like a tightly wound spring in his chest ready to burst out. This is so hard, being a parent, but it is so _good_ when it is good.

Blaine pads out into the room, rumpled and sleepy, although still without a shirt, which is quite a welcome surprise. Kurt’s eyes might be tired, but they do work.

“You should be sleeping,” Kurt tells him as Blaine sinks down next to him and slips his arm around Kurt’s shoulders, his beautifully bare, warm, and muscled arm. Blaine might not be able to get to the gym the way he used to, but lifting Audrey a thousand times a day is as good as doing reps.

Blaine leans over and presses a kiss to one of Audrey’s pudgy little feet. “I wanted to be out here with you two,” he says in a fatigue-graveled voice.

Kurt smiles at him, because it’s a terrible use of their resources and just desperately wonderful, anyway, and Blaine kisses him, too, soft and warm and not long but enough that Kurt’s toes still curl.

Then Blaine leans his head against Kurt’s, and the three of them sit in the early morning darkness and wait contentedly to see what the rest of the day will bring.

Audrey sucks on the bottle for another minute, then uses her few tiny teeth to pull at the nipple like a rubber band, and milk droplets spray over them, the couch, and the floor around them.

“Da,” she says with satisfaction, kicks her foot out against Blaine’s leg, and goes back to drinking.

As Kurt uses the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the milk off of his face, Blaine puts his head down on Kurt's shoulder and starts to shake with what Kurt hopes is amusement.

One thing Kurt knows for certain: whatever comes, the day isn’t going to be _boring_.

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a continuation of this 'verse in ["Vacation, All I Ever Wanted"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/831529).


End file.
